A Killer Retreat (20 page)

nineteen

“You're late.” Helen's pinched
face scolded me through the
Retreat
House's doorway. “Class was supposed to start fifteen min
utes ago.” Her breath—which smelled like fruity gym socks—packed a bigger punch than her words.

I flinched and took several steps back.

Who was this woman?

Physically, she was the same anxious but friendly woman I had traded jokes with two nights before, but energetically, she was different. She was obviously agitated about my tardiness, but it was more than that. She seemed sharp, almost bitter, and she gave me the same don't-mess-with-me glare she'd used when confronting Monica.

This was a woman I didn't want to cross.

“I'm so sorry. I got tied up in some personal business.” I opted not to tell her that said business was eavesdropping on her future son-in-law. I smiled, hoping to mollify her. “But I'm glad to be here now.”

Her brows knit together irritably. “I was about to send every
one home. We were supposed to be done here at twelve-fifteen. Now
we'll be late, you know.”

Fifteen minutes hardly seemed earth shattering, but I played along. I stared at my feet, doing my best impersonation of a repentant yoga teacher. “You're right, Helen, and it's all my fault. There's no good excuse. I won't charge for the session.”

I waited through several infinite seconds of silence before she
replied. “Well, I suppose you're here now. We may as well get started.” She opened the door wider and gestured with a half-empty
champagne glass for me to come inside. Sparkling fluid splashed over the rim, creating a spatter of effervescent droplets across the hardwood floor.

I looked around the empty hallway, hoping to see Emmy—or any
other friendly face, for that matter. “Where is everyone?”

“They're all waiting for you in the living room. Emmy set everything up this morning.” She staggered slightly as she walked down the hall. “Follow me.”

I followed.

I paused at the room's entrance, surprised. The living room, though gorgeous before, had been completely transformed since the night of the reception. The serving tables had been removed, but that was far from the only change. The furniture—couches, chairs, and end tables included—had either been moved out of the room or pushed against the walls, and the colorful Gabbeh area rug had been rolled up near the door. In the rug's place were twelve staggered yoga mats. A large ceramic vase containing purple dendrobium orchids, orange birds of paradise, and tall sprigs of red ginger decorated an altar in front of the fireplace; several lit candles flickered from the mantle. Strands of white Christmas lights bathed the room in a warm, inviting glow.

“Wow! You and Emmy did a fabulous job! This looks better than my yoga studio.”

“Don't look at me,” Helen replied. “It's all Emmy's doing. She wanted the space to look perfect for you, since Shanti House wasn't available. Too bad she's not here to enjoy it.”

“Not here?”

I peered around the room, looking for familiar faces. Women of all ages chatted in small groups, most of them sipping light orange liquid from crystal champagne flutes. Emmy wasn't among them, nor was Bruce. In fact, the gathering was completely devoid of the male gender.

“Aren't Bruce and Emmy joining us?”

Helen waved her hand dismissively. “Lord only knows where Bruce is. That man is useless. Emmy's off dealing with the latest emergency, so I guess I'm in charge of entertaining everyone.” She took a huge swig of champagne. “And this was supposed to be Emmy's bridal shower.” She scowled. “What a disaster.”

“What happened?”

“Would you believe it? The water line to the restaurant burst this morning.”

That explained the center's new swimming pool. Monica's food poisoning and now a burst water line? Was Elysian Springs badly managed, or was it cursed? Or was the problem something more sinister entirely?

Helen kept talking. “We were supposed to have Emmy's bridal luncheon at Eden today, but now that's ruined, too. Josh says the restaurant probably won't even open today.” She shrugged. “Not that it matters. Emmy wouldn't be able to attend anyway. She had to go to Anacortes to get parts.”

Helen drained the rest of her glass. “But Emmy insisted that we still hold this harebrained yoga class.” She walked—a little more unsteadily than I would have preferred—to a table containing several champagne bottles and a carton of orange juice. She filled her glass with champagne, topped it with a splash of orange juice, then waved her hands in the air. “So here we are.”

I didn't dare risk replying. Helen was obviously feeling both tipsy
and
cranky. But did she have to call my life's work harebrained? Yoga might not be up there with brain surgery, but it wasn't exactly dog fighting, either. I took my work seriously. Any long-term
practitioner would agree: yoga changed lives. My face must have betrayed my frustration, because Helen apologized.

Sort of.

“I'm sorry. That came out wrong. I'm sure your classes are lovely.”
She muttered under her breath. “Even if Emmy
did
have to browbeat everyone into coming.” She leaned against the table to steady herself and took another long drink.

Perfect.

Rene once told me that yoga was the world's best hangover cure, but generally speaking, I preferred that my students be sober. Down Dogging under the influence might not be a felony, but that didn't make it a good idea. I looked pointedly at the almost-empty glass in Helen's hand. “Since you ladies have been drinking, maybe we should do a lovely visualization instead of a movement practice.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Helen snapped. “I poured them each one glass. And I only did that because they were getting antsy waiting for you. Now let's get this over with.”

She gave three sharp claps. “Ladies, set down your drinks and pick out a mat. The yoga teacher is finally here.”

As the other women looked up from their conversations, Toni and Helen made eye contact. Toni frowned. Helen flinched. Helen thudded her glass on the table and turned toward me, lips pressed together so tightly they almost disappeared. “They're all yours.”

I smiled at the fidgety crowd and pointed toward the blankets, blocks, straps, and bolsters stacked neatly against the wall. “Hi, everyone. Please grab a blanket and two blocks, and sit down on a mat. We'll get started in a minute.”

I rolled out my own mat, set my chimes on the floor, and carefully watched my student suspects as they gathered yoga props and staked out their territories. No one acted unusual, except Helen and her would-be lover.

Toni and Helen didn't
seem
like lovers, or even friends, anymore. More like aging cheerleaders who'd just discovered that they were sleeping with the same quarterback. The two feuding women chose mats on opposite corners of the room. Toni studiously avoided looking at Helen; Helen stole quick glances at Toni. The tension between them was so sharp it could have cut glass. The rest of the guests obviously noticed; they glanced warily back and forth between the two women, as if wondering which would be their new alpha.

Time to shift focus.

I sat cross-legged on a blanket, smiled, and made eye contact with each of my new students. “Hi everyone. I understand most of you were sentenced to be here today.” A light twitter tinkled across the room. “That's OK. Hopefully by the end of class, you'll be glad you came.”

I ignored my aching neck and told them about Viniyoga, the style of yoga I taught. “This type of yoga isn't about what the poses look like; it's about how they feel in your body. Your goal today is to walk out of the room feeling better than when you walked in—maybe even better than after your first mimosa.”

They all laughed again. So far so good.

“Any requests today?”

Several hands lifted, asking for everything from low back stretches
to poses that would help relieve stress. I shifted, almost automatically, into teacher mode. “Let's start by lying on our backs.”

I asked everyone to stretch out on their mats and begin to length
en
their breath. After a few gentle movements designed start warm
ing thei
r bodies, I guided them into Bridge Pose.

“Place your feet flat on the floor, about four inches apart and six inches away from your hips.”

Helen turned her head to look at Toni. My own neck spasmed in response.

“Please don't turn your head in this pose.” Helen frowned at me, then looked up at the ceiling again. I continued. “Good. Now, as you inhale, press down on your feet and lift your hips up toward the sky.” Everyone complied. Some of the women arched their backs deeply; others were only able to lift a few inches away from the floor. But they all seemed to be getting the desired effect: strengthening their legs, hips, and backs while stretching the fronts of their bodies. “Excellent. Now, pretend that your spine is a pearl necklace, and as you exhale, lower it to the floor a single pearl at a time.”

A student in the middle of the room quipped, “My spine feels more like a two-by-four.”

We all laughed.

Next I asked the class to come to hands and knees for a pose called Upward Facing Dog.

“Start resting in Child's Pose. With your next inhale, move forward past hands and knees until your back arches and the crown of your head reaches up to the sky. Relax your shoulders down from your ears and …”

The women kept moving, so I must have kept speaking, though I have no earthly idea what I said. My mouth was set firmly on auto pilot. My brain was otherwise occupied, scrutinizing each student and sorting them into groups: guilty, not guilty, and to-be-determined.

The preteen to the right belonged in the not guilty pile. Teenage hormones notwithstanding, she didn't look nearly strong enough to subdue Monica, even if Monica was sick at the time. Ditto the eighties-ish woman practicing beside her.

Helen and Toni, on the other hand, were to-be-determined. Both women were physically capable of the deed, and they both had reason to want Monica out of the way. The rest of the class—ranging in age from twenties to sixties—remained mysteries. None of them looked like female body builders, but they weren't exactly feeble, either.

That blonde in the second row, for example. The one glaring at me and gritting her teeth. I could easily imagine her wrapping a leash around someone's throat.

Mine, for instance.

I glanced around the room. The rest of the students wore similar expressions.

How long had I left them in Upward Facing Dog?

Pained-looking faces grimaced from every row. The elderly wo-
man, who I suspected was Josh's grandmother, collapsed on the floor with an audible grunt. Sweat dripped off the preteen's collarbones and pooled on her mat.

“Oh my gosh, everyone. I'm so sorry. Let's rest in Child's Pose for a few breaths.”

“Oh thank God,” cried a voice from the back of the room.

I hadn't intended to beat the class into submission, but it worked. For the next forty-five minutes, they were focused; they moved in harmony; they even seemed to be enjoying themselves.

By the time we entered Savasana, I could tell from their expressions that I'd done exactly what I'd hoped. I'd helped each of these women find inner peace. More importantly than that, I'd built a bridge of trust between us. My heart swelled.

Then my stomach constricted.

I'd built that trust fully intending to abuse it. Gathering information to trap a killer wasn't exactly up there with seducing a student, but I still felt guilty. Just not guilty enough to change tactics.

I rang the chimes three times.

“Take as long as you need. Wiggle your fingers and toes and take a few deep breaths.” I saw several small movements. A couple of students stretched and yawned. “Rest for a breath or two, then roll to your side and press yourself up to sitting.”

I made eye contact with each student a final time, then touched my palms together at my heart. “Namaste. The light in me honors the light in you.” I smiled across the room.

Eleven relaxed-looking women beamed back at me—and Helen,
who looked like she had bitten into an under-ripe lemon.

“Any questions?” No one raised their hands, so I said, “I hope you'll all hang out and chat for awhile. I'd love to get to know you better.”

The practice must have metabolized the alcohol in Helen's blood
stream, because when she spoke, she sounded surprisingly sober. “I'm sorry, Kate, but you'll have to catch up with everyone later.”
She stood and turned toward the rest of the room. “Ladies, head back
to your rooms, change clothes, and meet me outside the office in ten
minutes. Eden is closed, so we'll have lunch in Olga, a cute little town about thirty minutes from here.”

That was okay, I could improvise. “That sounds like fun. I'll come
with you.”

Helen's look didn't invite discussion. “No, you won't. This party
is for family only.” She waved toward the door. “Go now ladies, scoot!
We're late, as it is!”

The preteen knelt down to roll up her mat.

“Leave the yoga equipment here,” Helen said. “Kate will put it away.”

To my horror, all of my suspects stood up and slipped on their shoes. I stared at them, powerless, as they filed one-by-one out the door. Toni gave Helen a you-didn't-have-to-be-so-rude look before joining them. When the door closed behind the last student, Helen turned to face me.

“I'm sorry, Kate. I'm sure that seemed impolite.” Her voice sounded more frustrated than apologetic. “If you hadn't arrived over fifteen minutes late, I would have told you before class. Emmy forced me to host this silly gathering, but I will
not
allow you to interrogate my friends and family. If you want to question someone, it will have to be me.” She looked pointedly at her watch. “You have five minutes.”